Beautiful
by Gammeh
Summary: Champion of Kirkwall, Hero, saviour, friend, but most importantly a woman. When she seems to have lost her femininity and all pride in her body, Anders seems to be the only one able to help her.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is my first attempt at kmeme and writing Dragon Age fanfiction altogether. Please be gentle.**

Dagger's growl was distant. It was expected, she always brought that beast with her every time she needed him for a job, and she always let it pour out its saliva all over his face. He hated that routine, being woken by a filthy mongrel, its mistress laughing hysterically behind it every day because every time it happened, Justice has awoken before Anders did himself and curses the dog in most profound tongues.

However, as much as the beast was expected, it has never been angry when it arrived to the clinic. It always seemed to be happy to see Anders, for whatever reason that it had. It always wagged its tail so hard, his whole body was thrown to different directions. No matter how much the creature adored him, his feelings were not reflected. Ser Pounce-a-lot would have torn it to shreds, if only he was here.

The growling amplified until it was replaced by Dagger's vicious barking, its teeth slamming against each other. Something was not right.

The darkness before his eyes was comforting, the warmth around his body made him feel as though he was in an actual bed again, not laying on the floor of the clinic.

"No!" A scream rang through his head. He recognised the voice, however he has never heard her scream that way before. That scream was full of terror, desperation, anguish. She always had every situation under control, approaching it with wits and confidence. This was so out of character, it must have been a dream.

"Don't touch- No!" Her voice cracked as she screamed and his heart stopped. This was not a dream. This was not even a nightmare. This was reality and it was happening right next to him, to his right.

He forced his eyes open and his head throbbed. The ceiling above him blurred before he recognised that they were still in that blasted cave. He exhaled as he realized this was a trap. Meredith was tired of the Champion opening people's eyes to the truth, the Templars' cruelty. She needed to get rid of them.

He turned his head when Hawke's whimpering reached his ears. She was laying on the ground, her staff a few feet away from her, broken in half, three Templars looming over her, two holding whips, one holding a sword. He looked down onto her and realized that she was half naked, her body crimson, stained with her own blood.

Rage clenched his soul. The image before him blurred. They must have hit the back of his head. He couldn't focus enough to stand up. He could only wait and watch as one of those monsters lifted her up by her hair. She whimpered, but did not scream again. He realized she must have had enough.

The Templar holding a sword stepped before her as she hung limply, given up. Anders saw him grin as he lifted the sword to her chest. His heart was racing, his throat closed, he felt nauseous. She was about to get killed, right before his eyes and he could do nothing about it. He tried to push himself up, however as soon as his body reached a somewhat vertical position, the world shook and he once again was on the floor.

They did not just hit his head. They poisoned him.

He realized the Templar was saying something. He tried to focus on that, however he only managed to capture the last few words. "Let's make this last, ey, boys?"

Eyes wide, he looked to his side and watched as the sword slowly moved down her body, under her left breast. His heart stopped.

The Templar shifter the blade, turning it to its side was pressed against Hawke's ribs. He grabbed her shoulder and with one move, he cut through her flesh.

Hawke's scream came from the depths of the Fade, the purest agony. The ground shook, the world flooded with blood, no other sound was audible but her scream and the beating of his heart. His skin burned as he himself also screamed, growled, cursed and cried.

He was then on his knees, her limp body, his entire body alight with power as he thrust his magic into her body, closing the wounds on her flesh. Justice screamed and yelled and pounded on the walls of his soul and mind, but there was nothing else he could do. They were all dead. They were all gone.

Anders has not known such torment and uncertainty. The following few weeks he spent by her side, leaving solely for absolute purposes.

She would never heal completely. Her entire shoulders and arms were covered in long, white lines, as results of the Templars' furious whipping. The left side of her chest was completely flat, the freshly healed skin smooth and pink.

He couldn't imagine what her reaction would be once she has awoken. Not only would this cost her a completely new wardrobe, but also a completely new mind set.

Three weeks after the incident, he agreed to leave and take a break, leaving her under Varric's protection. He hasn't bathed in weeks, let alone get good some hours of sleep. Varric told him he could use his room to freshen up. He could not verbalize his gratitude to the dwarf.

He hurried to The Hanged Man keeping his head low, not looking anybody in the eye. Without a word to the barman, he rushed up the stairs to Varric's room, ignoring all the curious looks of the customers. Sure enough, there was a pile of fresh clothes on the bed. After some examination, they turned out to be just a plain, light brown long sleeved shirt and a pair of pants. Commoner's clothes.

He sighed as he figured the dwarf was right. It was time to completely hide. In these clothes, it would be even more difficult to recognize him as a mage.

Gathering all of his new garments, he made his way back downstairs.

"Excuse me," He caught the attention of one of the waitresses, "could I take a bath? I will pay, of course."

"Oh, aren't you Varric's friend?" She waitress gave him a long look, from head to toe, smiling slightly. He grunted. He was not in the mood to play flirt, all he wanted was to bathe, change and return to Hawke, where he should be. "Varric already ordered a bath for you, and paid for it too, so you don't need to worry."

"Thank you. Where is the bath?" he asked quickly, already walking around her.

"Behind the bar, right through that door," she said and pointed as he already made his way there.

"Thank you," he repeated and shut the door behind him.

He stared up at the wooden ceiling, the water around him tingling his skin. Surrounded by silence, his thoughts re-enacted Hawke's screams over and over again in his head and his heart tightened once more.

Although he was poisoned and physically incapable of preventing what happened, guilt throbbed in his soul, thick and heavy, silencing even Justice. He pained and mourned for what Hawke had to go through, all because they were born with the curse of magic.

Rage filled him once again and the water began boiling, burning his flesh. He calmed himself, inhaling deeply and grunting the air out. This was not the time to seek Vengeance, not yet. Hawke waking up was his priority.

With that thought, he pushed himself out of the bathtub, dried his body and hair with the cloth that was prepared for him, dressed and headed out.

The news of the incident spread through the town rapidly and soon many nobles gathered around Hawke's mansion, baring gifts and condolences. Many speculated what happened, many did not know the extend of the tragedy, but everyone know who was responsible.

He pushed through the crowd that gathered at the square, refusing to answer any questions. They all knew he was responsible for healing Hawke and so they decided to suck some gossip out of him. He sealed his mouth shut and pushed on until he reached the door.

He knocked three times and within three seconds Bodahn opened and he slipped through.

"Thank you, Bodahn," he exhaled deeply, leaning against the wooden doors, "How is she?"

"Oh, she has awoken," the dwarf declared.

Anders stared at him for a moment, sure that he did not hear him correctly. The dwarf continued to stare up at him, however, which assured him oh the truth to his words.

Without another word, he ran up the stairs, two steps at a time. At the top, he found Varric, sitting in front of the closed doors to her bedroom. He was staring down at the floor, his expression so foreign, Anders did a double take. The dwarf's eyes were gleaming with tears and his usual smirk was flipped upside-down.

He looked up at Anders when the mage approached him. He swallowed hard and asked, "how is she?"

The dwarf looked back at the floor, his brows furrowing. He seemed to search for something in his mind for a while, and Anders realized it was the first time that he has found the dwarf at a loss of words. "Not good," he finally said and looked back up to meet Anders' eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

She lay on the bed, just where he left her. The room was dimly lit solely from the fireplace, the shadows of the flames dancing around the room. Her body was folded into a small ball, enveloped by the thin sheets of her bed. When he approached her, he could see that she was shaking.

Maybe she was cold? She might have gotten a fever, she was soaking wet from her blood and sweat when they carried her home.

He was prepared to light up his healing palms and take care of that issue when he heard her inhale sharply and the realization dawned upon him. She was not cold. She wasn't shivering.

She was sobbing.

He walked up to her quickly and kneeled before her. Her face was covered with her hair and her entangled arms. Her shoulders were shaking, up and down, and he noticed she was biting the pillow. She didn't want to make any noise.

He gently touched her arms, intending to move them away, but she jerked away, gasping loudly. She turned away from him and curled in, hugging her knees.

He didn't say anything. He just stood up and walked back to the chair he was sitting on all these days when she was asleep.

He watched her from the other side of the room, each minute more painful than the next. Soon enough, her shaking stopped and turned into deep, slow breaths and he concluded that she was sleeping.

He rubbed his face, sighing. Never through all the crazy adventures and scenarios that he played out in his mind has he thought something like this would happen.

He watched as she slept, anger roaring in his chest. If someone was to break in through the window to finish the Templars' job, he was ready to bite their head off.

Half hour later, Varric sneaked in through the door and stood for a while next to him, staring at her wordlessly.

After fifteen minutes, Varric swung from his heels to his toes, then back. He wanted to say something, he knew, so he turned to him and had his whole attention. He nodded towards the doors.

Anders didn't want to leave again. He wanted to be by her side in case she were to wake up again, to at least support her with his presence.

However the stern look in his friend's eyes informed him that it was necessary, so me pushed himself up from the seat and followed him out the room.

"You look good." Varric begun, looking at him from head to toe, "they fit you well."

"Get to the point, Varric."

"Alright, Blondie, relax," the ghost of a smirk played on his lips, but then quickly disappeared as the dwarf looked towards the door.

"When she woke up," he paused and inhaled deeply, "I have never heard her cry like that. It wasn't even crying. She woke up, looked down at herself and just started screaming. It wasn't pain, it wasn't fear, it was..." he paused again and looked down and Anders genuinely thought the dwarf was about to cry. "It was the worst sound I have ever heard. It was worse than when Leandra died."

Anders looked down as well, the dwarf's words sinking in. He expected as much.

"Thanks for being here," he said and looked up at him and was surprised to see a smug smile on his face, as though he just discovered a secret.

"Always to your service, Blondie," he answered, bowed, and turned to the stairs. "You know where to find me."

Returning to the room, he found Hawke sitting on the bed, fully awake, hugging her knees. The look in her eyes worried him - distant, absent, hopeless. She almost looked Tranquil.

He leaned against the closed door.

"How do you feel?"

She looked at him then, stared at him. She didn't answer.

He bit his lip. Slowly, he made his way to the chair. Her eyes followed him, her face smooth, a disguise. He didn't know what she was thinking as she watched him with such intensity, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

She hugged her knees tighter and pressed her face against them. She stared down at the bed and didn't say a word.

He waited patiently for her to say something, anything that would hint to her feelings, her thoughts. Hours seemed to have passed when he saw her clenching her fists. She lifted her head, the glare in her eyes vicious.

"Don't look at me," she said slowly, each word carrying a venom he's never heard her use, especially not towards him. His heart crushed and he knew. He knew she blamed him, he knew it was his fault.

He suddenly realized he was probably the last person she wanted to see.

He slowly got up and walked towards the bed, keeping his eyes on the floor. "I need to check your wounds before I leave."

She didn't say anything and he risked a glance up at her face. He was once again shocked. Her eyes were wide and she began trembling. She looked as though she was somewhere else, in a different realm of her own thoughts and memories, as though the things she was seeing were not the same as he saw.

He realized she was getting flashbacks and cursed quietly. He sat in front of her, getting into her sight and he saw her eyes focus on him.

"Look at me," he ordered, "it's over. Do you understand? It's over."

He watched as her pupils enlarged and tears began welling up in her eyes.

"Is it really, Anders?" she whispered, so quietly he barely heard her. He frowned in confusion, which seemed to worsen the situation. She buried her face in her knees and began crying once again.

He reached out to touch her, to show any sign of support, but she jumped away from his touch, eyes wide, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks. She was breathing heavily and she crawled all the way to the wall and sat against it, staring at him.

He bit his lip, sucking in the feeling of rejection. He should have expected this. He could have done something about this. He should have saved her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really, really sorry."

There wasn't anything else for him to say, no other words could describe what he felt.

He was just about to push himself up when she interrupted him, "What are you sorry for?"

He looked at her then. Was she testing him? Did she want to hear him admit to what he has done to her? That would be the logical explanation, and yet her face was genuinely confused, the fear gone, replaces by a frown.

"It's my fault."

The words hung in the air between them. Her eyes widened as she looked at him. He was more and more perplexed each second.

"Anders," she began finally, "you couldn't have done anything. I watched them hit the back of your head and poison you. I'm surprised you could overcome that."

He stared at her. He was at a loss of words. She always surprised him with her understanding and acceptance, even in the toughest of situations, something he obviously lacked.

"Then why-"

"I," she interrupted him, her eyes welling up with tears once again, "I'm..."

Her voice trembled and she closed her eyes, a single tear falling down her cheek. "I'm disgusting."


End file.
